Your Loyal Attendant
by Short Work
Summary: The queen had always found Reaver's propositions to be more distasteful than delicious. But when he decides to use creativity to get what he wants, she finds herself ill-equipped to resist him.
1. Queen of Hens

_Romance has been elegantly defined as the offspring of fiction and love. _ -Benjamin Disraeli

Henrietta was in awe as she waded through the sea of people. Earlier in the evening, she had been elated at the idea of a masquerade, one celebrating Albion's own triumph over the Crawler, and felt it would bring a much needed end to a very turbulent year.

She had taken great care to pick out the perfect costume. It was a very plain brown and white corset dress, made of a simple cut with little ornamentation save for a few white feathers adorning the collar and the hem. It was the type of dress someone of the lower class would wear if they had saved up a little money for something finer, but a distinguished noble wouldn't be caught dead in.

But the mask... The mask was the best part of the entire ensemble. She had it custom made, so that it would look exactly the way she wanted it to. The gold on the beak had quite a brilliant shine to it, and white feathers that radiated from the eyeholes extended just far enough back to cover most of her short brown hair. It was the finest chicken mask she had ever seen.

The complete costume was nothing short of perfect. She would be able to enjoy herself at the party without people constantly bowing and scraping every time she walked by, and was prepared to have the time of her life. Or so she thought.

Instead, her costume worked a little _too_ well. Everyone in the room not only didn't recognize who she was, they avoided her. Her dress identified her as common, and since most of the people in the ball room were of the upper class, they acted as if she was diseased. Every single person had avoided eye contact with her, and the one time she had tried to join a conversation with a group of nobles, the one speaking merely cleared his throat and acted as if she hadn't said anything at all. Either the nobles were terribly intolerant of the lower classes, or they all strongly disliked chickens.

It was most distressing, and not nearly as much fun as she thought it would be.

The queen sighed as she reached the far end of the ballroom, leaning herself up against the wall. Even the wallflowers there moved away from her. _This just won't do at all_, she thought as she brought her hand up to cup her chin. Henrietta watched the gowns swirl elegantly to the polite music as she lost herself in thought. What gave these people the right to look down on the common folk? She was the bloody queen of Albion and _she_ didn't go about sneering at anyone beneath her station. Part of the reason she wanted a simple costume for this masquerade was so that she wouldn't be seen as superior, so that she could simply blend in and get to know her people. That plan had certainly backfired.

"My my my... What have we here?" The distinct voice snapped Henrietta from her reverie, causing her to look up abruptly. Standing before her was none other than Reaver, the deviant master of Albion's industry, wearing the very same mask he had worn at the _last_ masquerade she had seen him at. Aside from that previous unfortunate encounter, Reaver had never spoken to her other than to argue against any ruling she would pass. Even if he was perhaps the most influential member of her court, the queen very much liked not having to talk to him, and she wasn't about to start now.

"Just one of the city folk, my lord, enjoying my own company," Henrietta said, offering him a curtsey. Reaver wasn't exactly empathetic to the less wealthy, so she hoped he would act as all the other nobles had and ignore her. Instead Reaver just grinned devilishly, looking very much like a spider having just discovered a fly in his web.

"Well we can't have that now can we," Reaver exclaimed. "You've dressed up and come all this way for a party. What kind of gentleman would I be if I left you here alone in the corner?"

_You sir, are no gentleman_, Henrietta thought. Almost as if Reaver had heard the voice in her head, he offered his hand to her for a dance, a prospect Henrietta found most horrifying. She barely looked at his hand before shaking her head and giving him his answer. "You'll find I'm quite a bad party guest, I'm afraid," Henrietta said. "I fare very poorly at making merry, and never make any attempt to be sociable."

"Which is precisely why you need _me_ to amend this little situation," Reaver replied. He stepped closer until he was standing directly in front of her, his top hat towering over Henrietta's head. "Oh, but you're a tall drink of water, aren't you?" he said, examining her from head to toe. "It's very rare that I come across a woman where I don't have to stoop down to kiss her." He nodded approvingly. "I'd say your lips are at a very agreeable height."

"They're at an agreeable distance as well," Henrietta added. "From any persons that may be entertaining ideas about claiming them." Reaver's grin only grew wider.

"You know, I've known very few women in my lifetime that share my space a head and shoulders above the rabble," he said, tucking his walking stick under his arm. "Only one of which is alive and well in Albion." Henrietta visibly stiffened at his remark, leading Reaver to take on a very smug expression as he continued. "It's only fitting that such _heroic_ stature visibly separates the queen from the common folk. Something to remember the next time you try to fool someone who actually possesses the power of observation... Your Majesty." He raised his walking stick and slowly moved aside her mask to reveal her very red face, further serving to punctuate the entirely unsurprising reveal of her identity.

"Balls."

As much as Henrietta tried to be a refined lady, she couldn't help but pick up some of the saltier language her mentor used around her growing up. An exclamation that cost her a moment that she could have been very quickly walking in the other direction, or trying to come up with some sort of excuse that would save her from further embarrassment. Certainly not just standing there mouth agape and frozen to the spot like a statue, complete with a title plaque reading _Confounded_.

Instead the queen just huffed and pulled the mask back down on her face. "I won't submit to a confrontation in the middle of a royal masquerade Reaver," she said. "If you wish to settle unfinished business then choose a time and a place, but not here."

"My dear lady, who said anything about confrontation?" Reaver replied, all too innocently for Henrietta's tastes. "I simply wished to compliment you on your very clever costume. You certainly seem to have everyone fooled. Apparently Henrietta, Queen of Albion draws much more attention than Henrietta, Queen of Hens."

"Thank you for the compliment sir," Henrietta replied coldly, crossing her arms across her chest. "But you knowing my identity ruins the effect. Perhaps you should go stand over there, on the other side of the ballroom."

"If it's the sheer effect you're after then you should accept my offer for a dance," Reaver suggested. "Surely no one here would expect the perpetually single queen to be dancing with the greatest lover in the queendom."

"They wouldn't be expecting you to be dancing with a chicken either," she quipped.

"Even more reason to accept," he countered. "A double layered rouse. Just _imagine_ the people's surprise at the end of the evening when you reveal yourself." He dramatically raised his arms as if to paint a mental picture. "Just who is that woman dancing with the glorious Reaver?" he said, imitating a stuffy woman's voice. "Oh my! It was the queen all along! How very unexpected!" He moved to stand beside her as he pointed out at the sea of people before them. "Whereas now..." he said, his voice having returned to normal. "No one is giving you a second glance."

Henrietta had to admit that Reaver did have a point. It wouldn't be much of a surprise if no one was paying attention. And the queen did have a fondness for the unexpected, even if it involved distasteful company. "Very well, Reaver," she replied. "You've made your case. I'll dance with you." Reaver's grin shifted from scheming to triumphant.

"And here I thought you were rejecting all my propositions out of spite," he said, bowing and offering her his hand.

"But!" she interjected, holding up a finger. "You have to remove your top hat." Reaver looked at her as if he had been shot.

"Why in the world would you request such a thing?" he asked, much more dramatically than expected of someone who has been asked to remove their hat.

"Because," Henrietta replied. "Even though it was my apparent height that revealed my identity to you, I happen to like being tall. And that hat simply makes me feel short." Reaver chuckled at her response.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," he said, setting his hat and walking stick on a nearby table before claiming the queen's hand and pulling her into the sea of people.

"You're not afraid someone will take your belongings if you just leave them there like that?" she asked.

"No one who fears my wrath would even consider such a notion," Reaver answered. "And I do believe everyone here has the wisdom to avoid doing so," he added, before pulling Henrietta in close and placing his free hand on her hip.

"Do you enjoy terrifying everyone around you Reaver?" she asked him as they began to dance.

"Quite. Though clearly some people simply refuse to be terrified," he said, looking at her pointedly. "I must admit, I very much enjoyed having the queen address me as 'My Lord'. It's certainly something I could get used to."

"No," Henrietta countered. "No it is not." Reaver tossed his head back and laughed out loud at her comment, at which point the queen noticed his hair. Not only was it perfectly coiffed even after being tucked under a hat, but it moved like magic. She could have sworn his hair was engineered to look spectacular no matter what the situation.

"Reaver," she said, voicing her thoughts before she could stop herself. "Your hair is magnificent! Why do you insist on hiding it under that silly hat?" The knowing eyebrow he raised indicated he was quite used to being admired.

"I could ask you the same thing my dear," he replied smoothly.

"The crown provides little coverage and my hair is less than remarkable," Henrietta stated flatly. Her short brown hair was so painfully ordinary that she felt a tiny bit of jealousy over Reaver's own voluminous locks.

"No not your hair," he countered. He paused to twirl her around in step with the song, bringing her back much closer than before so her her chest was flush up against his. "Your exquisite bosom," he added, squeezing her a little tighter. "Why do you insist on hiding your lovely breasts under that silly corset?" The queen offered him a frown and a sigh, before twirling herself away from him and bringing herself back at a respectable distance.

"I suppose I should have known better than to offer you any sort of compliment," she said, resuming the dance. "Your ego doesn't need any stroking, I'm sure." Reaver's eyes twinkled as he grinned at her comment.

"Well, perhaps not my ego, but..." he said. Henrietta stopped dancing and stared him down.

"Finish that sentence and I'll have you arrested on the spot," she said. Reaver's grin remained firmly fixed in place as he bowed his head curtly to her. He didn't wait for the queen's permission to start dancing again.

"What an enlightening little outburst," he said wryly. "The looming threat of a jail sentence must be why you've had no lovers lining up to escort you to such a prestigious party." Henrietta scoffed, annoyed that he would suggest such a thing.

"I'm not nearly so disagreeable," she replied. "The better explanation is simply that I have no lovers."

"Former lovers then," he amended. "Surely one would have accompanied you had you been just a bit more pleasant," he said, mock pity dripping from his voice. The way he casually baited her was too much for the queen to simply keep quiet on the matter.

"I am a _maiden_, sir," she said huffily. "I've had no time to run about seducing men when the queendom is at stake." Reaver merely laughed at her response, but his smile died when he realized that she was being completely serious.

"Ohh... Oh _my_," he replied, reevaluating her with this new bit of information. "How very troubling. You simply _must_ let me take care of that little problem for you." Henrietta's expression turned dubious.

"Since when is a woman's virtue a problem?" she asked.

"Since it concerns a very shapely, attractive, audacious hero of a _queen_," Reaver said with no small amount of impatience in his tone. "It would be a tragic waste to go on existing in this miserable state. And since it would seem you're not currently enlisting anyone to do anything about it, it's only right that I volunteer _my_ services as your loyal attendant."

"So it's only a problem for you," Henrietta clarified. "But I happen to be perfectly content with myself." At that moment the song they were dancing to finally came to an end. Henrietta breathed a sigh of relief, eager to be done with this line of conversation and her dance partner. "Well then," she said as she moved to excuse herself from his company.

"No no no, you're going about this all the wrong way," he interjected, following her as she walked back to the wall she had been leaning against before he interrupted her thoughts. He paused in his speech only to retrieve his top hat to put back in its rightful place, and his walking stick to tuck under his arm.

"Try to think of your virginity as a melon," he said, adjusting his hat as he spoke. The queen paused for a long moment, unsure if she actually heard him correctly.

"A... melon," she stated, not even sure she wanted to know what he meant.

"Yes, a very large melon," he replied as he leaned against the wall beside her. "One which you're forced to carry around with you at all times. It's very difficult to get close to someone if you're holding a melon between you. No doubt such a hinderance is the reason you've yet to form any romantic attachments even still." The queen opened her mouth to protest his statement, but Reaver cut her off before she was able to utter a single word.

"But if you were to hand that melon over to me," he said, leaning in close and lowering the volume of his voice to a much more intimate level. "I would shatter it into a hundred pieces, engorge myself on the tender flesh found within, and lap up the sticky juices so that not a trace remains." Henrietta was very glad to be wearing a mask at that point, but she could feel her ears burning and knew they must be just as red as her face.

"Then you'd be rid of your unnecessary burden," Reaver continued on normally as if he hadn't just very suggestively propositioned her. "And no one would have to know. You could even title yourself 'Henrietta, Virgin Warrior Queen of Albion' and I wouldn't tell a soul."

"Ugh, Reaver, you make my name sound like the title of a vulgar novel when you say it like that," she complained. She crossed her arms across her chest, desperate to change the subject.

"Now _there's_ an idea," he mused. "Such a story would be sure to bring in a tidy profit."

"No." The queen calmly uttered the simple rejection without even bothering to look at him.

"There, there, Your Majesty." Reaver mussed up the plumage on her mask as he patted her head, mimicking the tone one would use when placating a small child. "I promise to make it tasteful."

"Stop ruffling my feathers, Reaver," she replied, smoothing out the top of her mask. "I'm a maiden, not a child. My virtue isn't a weakness."

"Oh isn't it?" he asked a bit too jovially. "Tell me your majesty, in what arena does a _lack_ of experience make you a stronger opponent?"

"Since when is passion comparable to combat?" she cut.

"The parallels aren't painfully obvious to you?" he asked, the surprise in his voice sounding almost genuine. "Ah well. You'll learn in time, I suppose. For now, it's comparable because _despite_ staging a royal coup, defeating an otherworldly monstrosity, and embarking on a number of intrepid adventures, you've decided to so ardently defend your own forced innocence in only this aspect of your life. I don't know _why_ you've chosen to fly in the face of reason, but as the steadfast proponent for all things pleasurable I can only interpret it as a challenge." He made a small flourish through the air with his walking stick as if it were a sword.

"All right, I think it's about time we parted ways," she said with an exhausted sigh. Henrietta considered herself a very tolerant person, but she had had quite enough of Reaver.

"But I'm having _much_ too much fun to end our dialog now." He planted his walking stick and feet to signal that he wasn't going anywhere. "If I knew you'd prove to be such delightful company then I would have been much quicker to personally make your acquaintance."

A mild horror descended on the queen as she wondered just what she had brought upon herself by associating with Reaver. "What then," she asked. "Are you planning on sticking to me the entire evening?" The grin he answered her with was nothing short of wicked.

"Only if you have the stamina for it, my dear."

* * *

**I was really annoyed by how Reaver never even really talked to the queen, and instead was all up in Page's business. He was all like 'Ooh Page you're such a heroine for saying a generic angry statement to me', while the player is the one perilously hanging from a cage. It's like being chopped liver next to her. Ben Finn didn't help matters much either. **

**Anyway, insert generic Fable and all its characters are property of Lionhead and Microsoft statement here, and reviews would be very much welcome!**


	2. Queen of Virgins

The queen sighed as she slumped into the cushy chair in her study, glad to be back in the castle after so many weeks of adventuring. She had left the day after the masquerade, to be sure Reaver didn't try to further familiarize himself with her character. At the party itself, he had actually become gradually less annoying as she became more accustomed to his company, but he was no less persistent. Henrietta was certain he would try to spend more time with her in the following days, and she was quite satisfied with her dog being her only constant companion.

The canine himself, Rooster, lay at her feet, equally exhausted after a bout of killing hobbes. Having a friend around that didn't fill her day with chatter was a great comfort to the queen. She was always more at peace by herself on the gentle shores of Bower Lake than in the luxurious comfort of the castle, and a silent partner only added to that enjoyment. Henrietta bent down to scratch the dog behind his ears in a show of appreciation.

She undid the string on her highwayman cape and hung the cloak on the back of her chair, ruffling through the documents placed on her desk in her absence. She was wearing a simple corset underneath to accommodate for the spring weather, so her shoulders were left bare. There were quite a few documents demanding her attention pertaining to the restoration of Bowerstone's more damaged areas, so the stack of papers was quite big.

Not two pages in however, she discovered a packet that was so thick it must have had thirty papers in it. It was simply labeled _Note for a Monarch_, but the envelope had a wax seal imprinted with the double R's so that there would be no mistake as to who sent it. "Of course," Henrietta muttered to herself. "Even when I'm not here he's still busy worming his way into my life." Opening the packet, she found the cluster of papers was bound as a sort of manuscript, with a separate note attached to the front.

_Greetings your majesty,_

_I do hope your little voyage sees you well, it would be such a disappointment to find you dead upon my return. With your leave I will also take mine to attend to a personal matter. It's a regular appointment that I am finding more tiresome with every passing year. Perhaps I will tell you more some day. For now, I just wished to say it has been a privilege to serve you and I eagerly anticipate doing so again in the future._

_Your friend and loyal attendant,_

_Reaver _

_P.S. I've included for your consideration a portion of the book I have written, inspired by your charming nature. I hope you find it as thrilling to read as it was for me to conceive._

A devastating sense of dread settled into the pit of Henrietta's stomach at the postscript. She had a very strong feeling that she knew what his book was about. Of course, not reading it would only reveal to Reaver that she was afraid to do so, and that certainly wasn't about to happen. So setting the other documents aside and steeling her resolve, she turned to the first page and began reading.

"_There's something you should know," the queen uttered softly, a faint rosy blush blossoming on the apple of her cheeks. The candlelight flickering in the royal gardens danced on her lovely porcelain skin as she gazed out at the row of lush fauna blossoming in the evening. She ran her graceful fingers along the column of the __pavilion__, slowly coming to a halt as she gripped the sturdy marble for support. "I-", she faltered, her voice trembling as she tried to find her verbal footing. At last she turned around to face the brilliantly beautiful man before her, her elegant sapphire gown swirling gently with her movement. His flowing white shirt hung open down to his waist, revealing a finely chiseled chest that lead her eyes down to his scandalously tight black trousers. The queen felt it a sin simply to look at him, and her face grew hot as she spoke. "I've never even kissed a man," she coyly revealed, fluttering her eyelashes downwards-_

"Oh please," Henrietta muttered, interrupting her reading. "I've been _kissed_ before. Why does he insist on painting me as some sort of wilting flower just because I've never lain with a man?" Rooster perked his head up at the sound of her voice, offering her an expectant gaze. Henrietta merely clicked her tongue and skipped to the next paragraph, annoyed that she had only just begun reading and was already off to a bad start.

"_Then I shall leave the purity of your lips unmolested, Your Majesty," he replied with a sultry voice, igniting a burning desire deep within the queen's body. She breathed an anxious sigh at the touch of his deft fingers ghosting along her jaw; fingers that she knew would bring her absolute pleasure if she only gave the word. He had given her his vow as her loyal attendant that all she had to do was call his name, and he would take her to paradise as only he could._

"_Reaver..." she whispered huskily, as he-_

"What? Reaver!" Henrietta shouted, startling Rooster enough to alert her that her outburst was much louder than she intended. A few moments later the guard outside her door had rushed into the room with Hobson poking his head in through the doorway looking about for signs of distress.

"Is something wrong Your Majesty?" Hobson asked her, his concerned expression not fully hiding his stronger curiosity.

"Just... frustrations with diplomatic relations," Henrietta replied with a shaky laugh. "Certainly nothing more than the usual. Please go back to what you were doing." She had flipped the book closed and put the more orderly papers back on top a split second before the intrusion, though she could feel the embarrassment burning in her cheeks.

"Yes, My Queen," the guard answered with a salute before leaving the room. Hobson lingered a moment longer with suspicion clear on his face, before he finally left the queen back in the privacy of her study. Henrietta immediately snatched up the manuscript as soon as she was alone, not even opening it, and instead just throttling it as if it were Reaver's neck. He had written _himself_ as her lover. _Reaver_. With herself. The _Queen_.

But of _course_ he had written himself as the romantic lead. Henrietta dropped the book and rubbed her palms in her eyes, bothered that she hadn't realized it as soon as she received the damnable document in the first place. He had been trying to talk her into casually handing her virginity over to him for the majority of the masquerade. If he wasn't getting it from her in real life, then he would live out his fantasy in fiction. Why he felt _she_ needed to read it was lost on her however.

Henrietta shoved the book to the side and looked back at the actually important documents placed on her desk in her absence. She had business to attend to, and reading Reaver's little love story was not a productive use of her time.

Filling out forms wasn't a difficult task, and for a lot of papers she merely needed to provide her signature. Nevertheless, it was tedious work compared to her usual adventuring, and it didn't take long for her to grow weary of the bureaucracy. She rested her chin in the palm of her hand for a moment and stifled a sigh, knowing all too well that she had to get this work done. And yet, she couldn't help but to let her eyes wander over to the manuscript sitting off to the side of the papers.

Henrietta couldn't deny she was a bit curious as to exactly how far Reaver took things in his little story. The conventional wisdom was that a queen should be respected, but that deviant was anything but conventional. She suspected Reaver never getting any sort of comeuppance for his Wheel of Misfortune escapades gave him the idea that he was unpunishable. Her inaction didn't exactly communicate the idea that he should fear her wrath. The queen was certainly angered by his little stunt, but the whole usurping the crown and ruling the queendom business left her with other things on her mind.

Henrietta tried valiantly for at least another minute to keep her mind on her work, but her curiosity inevitably got the best of her. So picking up the manuscript and finding where she had left off, she once again began to read.

"_Reaver..." she whispered huskily as he ran his velvety tongue over the white column of her throat. Fingers trailing down her spine sent shivers shooting all the way down to her toes and caused her to involuntarily bring her lithe frame closer to his. He pressed the full length of his perfectly sculpted body up against her as the queen wrapped her arms around his neck, reveling in the softness of his magnificent hair as she ran her fingers through his silky locks. The dashing rogue took off her crown and set it aside on the marble railing, tangling his fingers in her own hair as he lavished her face with kisses, covering every bit of skin but her lips. When he had moved down to sensually nip at her collarbone, the queen could stand it no more._

"_I want you Reaver," she breathed, her voice thick with desire. "I need you." The queen could feel his lips grow into a smile against her skin as he kissed the top of her pillow-soft breasts, before he brought his sparkling eyes up to captivate her own._

"_Is that your command Your Majesty?" he asked, his beautiful mouth only a hairs breath away from hers as he formed the words. The powerful ache the queen felt when his willing and able lips left her body was almost unbearable, and she could do little but nod her consent._

"_It is my desire," she at last replied through shuddering breaths. "Take me now." The seductive smile drew out upon his face almost as slowly as his hand slid tantalizingly down her body._

"_You will no longer be the Queen of Virgins," he whispered silkily, toying with the hem of her elegant gown. "For a night of unequaled passion."_

"_It is a worthy trade," she replied firmly, unable to withstand the torture any longer. Her unyielding desire for him was a painful hunger that could only be sated one way. The decision was simple._

"_Of course," he answered, slipping his talented hand underneath her dress. "Henrietta." His hand snaked its way up her smooth thigh at a deliberate pace, building up the queen's anticipation beyond sanity. His fingers left hot trails of fire as they danced against her skin, until they at last-"_

"Oh my," Henrietta muttered to herself. If she had any doubts before about the nature of Reaver's book then they were certainly banished now. She didn't exactly expect him to write a dissertation on the structure of the classes, but she was a bit dubious that he would actually write out an entire love scene between the two of them. She turned the manuscript on its side and examined the thickness of it. It was easily thirty pages at least. Exactly how long did the scene last? Henrietta flipped forward a few pages and quickly read a sentence.

_She could only hold on for dear life as each wave of sensations threatened to drown her. Reaver mercilessly continued-_

The scene was still marching on. She flipped forward to the middle of the book and had a look at the contents there.

_The performance of his wicked tongue was nothing short of maddening as he-_

It was _still_ going. She turned to the last page, wondering just how long he could stretch out one scene.

_Her cries of ecstasy were-_

The entire thing. The _entire_ thirty page manuscript he had sent her was just one long love scene between Reaver and the queen. "Well this is certainly not safe for the study," she said to herself, opening her desk drawer and stashing the manuscript under some papers. Henrietta could feel her cheeks burning as she closed the drawer. She glanced down at Rooster and gave him a shaky smile, though she could swear the dog was giving her a judgmental look. "What?" she asked, turning back to her more important papers. He merely offered her a sigh before rolling over and going back to sleep. The queen was only too happy to return her attention to her duties, as she had found herself suddenly wanting to occupy her mind with some very dry paperwork.

There was certainly enough paperwork to take up the rest of the day, and by the time the sun had set, Henrietta had made a sizable dent in her workload. There was still quite a bit left for her though, and she hadn't helped her cause with the relatively slow pace she worked at. The tedium kept her mind in a blank haze all day, and she was desperate to get her brain active again.

She sat back in her chair, quite ready to retire to her bedroom for the evening. She didn't move from her seat however, as her eyes were transfixed on her desk drawer. She cupped her chin with her hand, concerned about what to do with Reaver's little 'gift'. "It would probably be unwise to leave that manuscript here in the study," she said to no one in particular. "If someone happened to accidentally stumble across the book, it would be disastrous." She dismissed the idea that there was little danger of someone ruffling through the queen's desk drawer, and decided it would be best to take the book to her bedroom with her where it would be safe.

The queen stood up and walked over to a nearby bookshelf to retrieve two tomes: _Attack of the Killer Puffins_ and a _Select Your Own Endeavour_ book. She brought them back over to her desk and set them down, before retrieving Reaver's manuscript from the drawer. Sandwiching the manuscript between the two larger books, she tucked the collection under her arm, whistled to Rooster to follow her, and walked the very long distance to her bedroom.

Shutting the door and locking it behind her, Henrietta set the books on the nightstand and changed into her bedclothes. She doused all the lights but the one on her bedside table, and made herself comfortable in bed with Rooster curled up at her feet. Turning to the stack of books, she regarded them carefully. She briefly entertained the idea of reading _Attack of the Killer Puffins_ to retain some semblance of self-respect, but her curiosity was much too powerful to simply ignore Reaver's manuscript. She knew her inexperienced nature meant the content of his writing was unexplored territory for her, and she was nothing if not adventurous.

The queen was well aware that the principal characters in the story were herself and Reaver, but it was only fiction after all. She was sure they represented the two of them in name only, and that the degenerate author himself would be far from her mind as she read. So retrieving the manuscript and steeling her resolve, she engrossed herself in the story.

…

Henrietta finished the last page and closed the manuscript, marveling at what she had just read.

Reaver had made love to her in words. Very thoroughly.

He had been sure to include very detailed descriptions of every action and the resulting sensations the fictional queen experienced. To say it was eye-opening would be an understatement. No, going from having very little knowledge of the subject matter to a state of understanding the intricate minutia simply from reading a thirty page manuscript was an experience Henrietta could only describe as transformative.

The queen rubbed her eyes, as if trying to wake up from a dream. She felt unlike herself, like she had gone a little bit mad, or that the story she had been reading was more real than the darkened bedroom she was sitting alone in during the middle of the night. A feeling of incompleteness washed over her, and she became aware of a sudden emptiness in her bed. The manuscript had clouded her mind, leaving it simultaneously opaque and yet full of imagery.

Her whole body burned as she tried to dispel the thoughts from her mind. But try as she might, she could not help but to picture what she had just read. It was simply too new, too shocking, and altogether much too intriguing. She was utterly transfixed while reading, and when she had finished she could not stop thinking about it. And that was the worst outcome possible, what she had most hoped would not happen from reading the blasted thing. The events played out in her head over and over, and she knew with startling clarity... that she had enjoyed it.

But she didn't just enjoy reading it, oh no. It was the images still loudly parading in her head that she couldn't get enough of. Images that were all the more provocative because they depicted her being intimate with that duplicitous knave of an author. The story's 'hero' should have been abhorrent to her, and he certainly qualified for that category before she began reading the manuscript. But once she had taken the time to read the entire thing, the thought of Reaver's body intertwining with her own was an idea not revolting, but _pleasing_ to her. It was as if she had been hexed.

Henrietta was at a complete loss as to how to compose herself. She did the only thing she could think of when her mind was in such a jumbled state.

She read the story again.

…

A second exposure to the manuscript did nothing to dull the effectiveness of the material, and she felt no less unsettled than she did before. She put the manuscript back on the nightstand, cursing the damn thing for being so compelling. The queen blew out the last candle as she did so, and laid back down in her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Henrietta's uneasiness only grew when she was in full darkness, as her eyes could see nothing to distract her from her mental imagery.

The queen curled up in a little ball like she had when she was a child, frightened of the theoretical monster underneath her bed. It was no longer some grotesque monstrosity she was hiding from however, it was Reaver she feared was lurking in her bedroom. But instead of swallowing the bed whole with her in it as her imaginary monster threatened, Reaver would merely climb under the covers beside her and give her unimaginable pleasure.

The thought of Reaver in her own bedroom delivered Henrietta a shocking revelation. What would happen the next time she has to meet him? There would be no way she could banish those thoughts if he was standing directly in front of her. The queen had such a loose grip on her rationality with these images swirling in her head that there was a very real possibility his fiction would become prophecy. She desired him now, even if she still had a powerful awareness of the fact that Reaver was a very, very bad man.

Henrietta sat up as quick as lightning, groping around in the dark for a match to light the candle on her nightstand. Once she had light to see by, she grabbed the manuscript and read over the accompanying note. It was dated over four weeks ago. Henrietta's mind reeled as to what that meant for her. Exactly how far away was Reaver's destination? How long was he planning on staying there? Did he leave the manuscript for her before he left or did he send it by post? Most importantly, how much time did the queen have to escape before the jaws of his trap clamped shut around her?

The queen wasted no time in planning her flight. She hastily left her bedroom to measure the work left for her in the study. The papers specifically needing her attention were no small amount, and she couldn't very well abandon it after being gone for so long. She needed at least two days to settle any business pertaining to the restoration of Bowerstone's more damaged areas. On the third day she would leave. It didn't matter where to, as long as she wouldn't be easily found.

She knew she needed time alone to right herself again. There was no other choice if she wished to regain control of her own senses. If Reaver came back to town while she was trying to pull herself together she would be completely undone again, and he would most certainly use that to his advantage. Therefore her path was clear. The queen would live like a hermit if she had to, as long as she stayed away from Reaver!

* * *

**Fable 3 acted like the Wheel of Misfortune was supposed to show how depraved and immoral Reaver was, but I had already seen it before in the last game. And then you can play it again for fun and prizes! It really dulled the effect, and made me want to go around telling all the NPCs that it was no big deal. The metagame sort of got in the way of the role playing there.**

**But more importantly, big thank****s to Yarbo and onelove87 for the reviews. You rock!**


	3. Queen of Fools

"Your Highness," Hobson announced as the queen worked furiously in her study. "Master Reaver is here to see you."

Henrietta stopped writing mid-signature and sat very still. She felt her blood freeze for a moment, before immediately thawing and suddenly feeling very hot. Her mind was in an even worse state, since the concept of speech currently eluded her and only apparitions of a very naughty Reaver were marching through her head. It took a substantial effort to bring her mind back to the present. When she spoke, she felt as if the voice was coming from somewhere else.

"I'm much too busy to see him today," she said mechanically. "Tell him to come back tomorrow." Hobson bowed at her response.

"Of course, Your Majesty," he said, before making his way out of the study.

Henrietta cursed her luck as she turned her attention back to her papers. She had planned to leave the very next day, and was nearly done with the work she had been so determined to finish. But with Reaver back in town, there was a very good chance he would somehow discover her as she left the castle, especially if he would be returning to visit tomorrow. Should she simply try to confront him head on?

No, that would be disastrous. Henrietta was in no way prepared to contend with Reaver's clearly experienced manipulations in her vulnerable state. One of the first things she had learned from Walter in her years of training was to never show the opponent your weakness. Unfortunately for her, the opponent and weakness were one and the same. Facing Reaver would spell certain defeat.

The queen was left with no choice. Instead of leaving the next morning as planned, Henrietta would have to sneak away late that night. She would finish any preparations needed to keep the queendom running without her, and then exit through the catacombs beneath the castle. The entrance was through the royal mausoleum, and the only way to exit the caverns on the other side was through the Cullis Gate. That would make it impossible for anyone to track her down, since no one but a Hero had the power to use the gate.

Henrietta attacked her remaining duties with renewed vigor, determined to get everything sorted out before she left. With the focused pace she was working at, it wasn't long before she had completed all of the paperwork. The remainder of her evening was spent getting any belongings together that she would need for an extended leave.

The queen was dwelling over the map table to plot her course when Hobson came into the study. He took note of the highwayman outfit the queen was wearing, as well as the bag obviously intended for travel sitting in one of the armchairs.

"Are you planning to depart again, Your Majesty?" he asked. The note of concern in his voice was clear. Having a queen spend only a few days at the castle before she wandered off again made it a bit difficult for her to do any actual ruling.

"Yes, I'm leaving tonight," Henrietta replied, not looking up from the map. "I've left notes for delivery with each document on my desk. There should be enough information there to get the restoration up and running."

"And what of your appointments tomorrow?" he asked. Henrietta's mind went blank for a moment at his question. She hadn't made any appointments. Only Reaver was planning on seeing her the next day, and it was highly doubtful he wanted to discuss the welfare of the queendom.

"Canceled," she said flatly. Hobson waited a moment for her to elaborate further or arrange to reschedule, but the queen said nothing.

"Oh dear," he said quietly, tilting his head and bringing his hand up to cup his chin. "Then Master Reaver has stayed at the castle all day for nothing." Henrietta tensed up almost painfully at his comment, fighting the urge to grab the little man by his coat and scream questions into his face.

"He's still here?" she asked casually, managing to keep a grasp on her reason.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Hobson answered. "He elected to stay the night in the guest quarters, in case you changed your mind about seeing him today." Henrietta let out a short frustrated sigh. Leave it to Reaver to expect the queen to come to him. "Shall I send him away and let him know of the cancellation?" Hobson asked.

The queen took off her crown and set it on the map table before running a hand messily through her short hair. She wanted Reaver out of the castle as soon as possible, but telling him to leave because she wouldn't be there to see him the next day would reveal her plan to flee. It would be better to not raise his suspicions, and just hope that he decides to stay in his room all evening.

"I'm sure he's already found someone to keep him entertained for the evening," she replied. "It would probably be best if you didn't disturb him until tomorrow."

"I... see," Hobson said, before dismissing himself and leaving the queen to her own devices.

Henrietta decided that when the hour was so late everyone would be asleep would be the perfect time for her to leave. There was less chance of her discovery by anyone at all, much less He-Who-Must-Be-Avoided-At-All-Costs. But by the time she was making her way down the darkened corridors of the castle with Rooster by her side, she began to seriously regret that decision.

Not being able to clearly see into the more shadowy corners of the hallways set her on edge like never before. Her paranoia ratcheted up to new heights whenever she reached a doorway, fully expecting the man himself to emerge from the shadows like an infernal demon. Every tiny little noise caused her to jump, even when it was a very dog-like sound coming from Rooster. She had faced the Crawler with less apprehension than this.

The castle felt bigger than ever before as she made her way through it, but she finally made it outside. Henrietta had purposefully avoided the castle gardens after reading the manuscript, and no sooner than stepping outside did the very vivid images bleed back into her mind. She stood staring dumbstruck at the pavilion across the lawn for a moment, transfixed by what she saw in her mind's eye. The queen shook her head violently to clear it, before just running full speed across the gardens to the central monument and plowing through the mausoleum doors.

Once inside, she paused with her face in her hands to calm her nerves, allowing herself a good long moment to breathe again. Her reprieve was short lived however, as a chilling realization dawned on her and caused her to turn around back to the door. She had heard the sound of the doors closing, but not the sound of them clicking into place. She moved closer to the crack in the door to inspect it, since she certainly didn't want any unwitting servant accidentally stumbling down into the catacombs and getting themselves killed. Henrietta noticed something near the floor caught between the two doors, causing her to squint in the faint light to try to make out what it was. It looked suspiciously like the bottom end of a walking stick.

A feeling of doom had just settled onto her, when gloved fingers suddenly snaked their way through the crack in the doors. Henrietta sprang back to gain distance and fell into a battle stance, for what little good that would do her. A moment later, and the doors had been opened, revealing the very demon who had cursed her so. Reaver.

Henrietta felt hot and cold all at once, almost feverish. She knew that trying to talk her way out of his presence wouldn't work. That would require the use of her mind, which she was currently at war with for its traitorous imagery. There was no time for thought, only action. Reaver didn't even have a chance to pass through the doorway before the queen spoke.

"Pardon me, but I have to go!" she spat out quickly, before simply spinning around and running in the opposite direction. She didn't look back, and sprinted down the stairs and across the vast caverns with all the considerable speed she could muster.

She began charging up her gauntlets even before she reached the Cullis Gate, partially so she could simply have something to concentrate on other than the predicament she was in. When she finally reached the gate, she crouched down, grabbed a hold of Rooster as he ran to her, and released the spell. Immediately the gate responded, glowing brightly before releasing a burst of energy bright enough to make the queen hide her eyes.

Henrietta kept her head down for a long moment afterwords, only opening her eyes when she felt the gentle flakes of snow falling into her hair. She let out a sigh that immediately frosted in the cold air, very much welcoming the sight of the Mistpeak Dweller Camp's firelight twinkling at the foot of the hill before her. She moved over to sit and rest against one of the gate's surrounding pillars to catch her breath, while Rooster wasted no time before jumping into a snow drift and rolling around.

Henrietta laughed at her dog as he played in the snow, a little envious at his ability to have such carefree fun. It was the dead of night however, and frolicking in the snow for all hours wasn't really an option. Henrietta owned a caravan on the edge of the camp they could stay in for the rest of the night, before moving on in the morning. For the moment, she just closed her eyes and relaxed. She hoped the freezing air would do well for her heated blood, and that she would have time to clear her head.

Her rest was cut short when a very bright light flooded her field of vision through her closed eyes, causing her to turn her head away. When the light subsided and she opened her eyes again, she found she was no longer alone. Reaver had followed her through the Cullis Gate.

She _should_ have questioned how it was possible for him to even use the gate at all, but the only thing that the queen could think of was how stunningly handsome he was. She had refused to allow herself a good look at him in the mausoleum, and the last time she physically saw him they were both wearing masks. Without them, it was as if they were naked, a thought her mind wasted no time in running away with. He was without his top hat as well, the hair that he already knew she admired as perfect as ever. Reaver immediately noticed the queen sitting on the ground before him and adopted an appropriately victorious grin.

"Tsk tsk, Your Majesty. It's considered bad form to make a premature retreat you know," he told the queen, wagging an admonishing finger at her. The queen just kept staring at him for a moment longer, since she was quite certain her brain had broken. Eventually, she managed to come up with at least one word.

"Balls."

It certainly wasn't the most productive word, to say the least. Reaver merely offered a pitying sigh at her sorry state.

"So this is what you so urgently had to do to cancel our little rendezvous..." he said. "Playing in the snow? Surely there's more fun to be had back in the luxury of the castle." He leaned over on his walking stick and brought his face to the same level as hers to fix her in his gaze. With much effort Henrietta struggled to regain her bearings and spoke, albeit very slowly. She was functioning, but she was convinced she was still properly insane.

"I.. haven't been feeling well," she said. "I believed a cooler climate would calm my fever, and wanted to depart as soon as possible."

"Mmm, you do look rather flushed," he mused, moving his face closer to her for inspection. "Though it seems all you've succeeded in doing is getting yourself wet." He gestured to the droplets of water on her arms. "Your heated body is only melting the snow," he said. He then offered his hand to help her to her feet. Henrietta regarded his outstretched hand warily, but soon realized that just avoiding him was no longer an option. She accepted his assistance, but was powerfully aware of his grip on her hand as he did so. When she was back on her feet, she noticed he was standing close enough to her to send her mind reeling again. Her back was still against one of the gate's pillars as well, leaving her good and trapped between a rock and a hard place.

"My, but what ravishing little trousers you're wearing," Reaver said, looking the queen up and down. "I suppose a skirt is impractical for running about the wilderness. Who knows _what_ could crawl up your leg?" Henrietta self consciously ran her hand over the laces on her highwayman pants at his remark.

"They're my adventuring pants," she replied cautiously, not taking her eyes off his.

"Yes, I imagine there's _quite_ an adventure to be had in those pants," he replied, eying them in a way that was most certainly not due to an appreciation for fashion. Henrietta's face turned very red, and she crossed her arms as her defensive instinct finally kicked back in.

"You _did_ imagine it," she shot back at him. "Very thoroughly might I add. Then you put your imaginings to paper and had me read it."

_That's right, anger!_ she thought to herself. Anger was the emotion she was struggling to recall. She was supposed to be mad at him after reading his manuscript, not infatuated. Henrietta grabbed hold of whatever indignation she could muster and held onto it for dear life.

"Did my story _excite_ you, Your Majesty?" Reaver asked, arching his eyebrows knowingly. "I worked so very hard on it, you see. I wanted to be sure it would please you." Henrietta would swear that from the moment he arrived through the the Cullis Gate, Reaver had been saying one thing and meaning another.

"It- It was ridiculous," she huffed, turning away from him. "I can't believe you would write such things about me Reaver. That's certainly not the proper respect to show your queen." Henrietta was legitimately angry with the man. She _knew_ she was. But despite this, her voice sounded more hurt than aggravated, only serving to heighten her frustration.

"I hold more respect for you, my most lovely queen," he said, leaning in close. "Than I do for the entirety of Albion." The queen snapped her face back towards Reaver, and put her hands on her hips.

"That only goes to show how little respect you hold for anyone in the queendom," she countered.

"Perhaps," he said with a relaxed smile and a flippant shrug. "But tell me your majesty," he said, pausing to pull at the fingers of his glove one by one before removing it completely. "Which part of my story did you find ridiculous?" he asked. His expression turned devious as he removed his other glove and put them in his coat pockets. "If you'd be so kind, I'd like to know the _specific_ moment." It was those _specific_ moments that played themselves out in the queen's head at his suggestion. Henrietta held her breath for a moment, hoping that her brain would stop showing her such things if she denied it air.

"Well you certainly didn't portray me very well," she said with a rush of air. "I've been _kissed_ before, Reaver." She crossed her arms across her chest in a display of petulance.

"You _have_? Really?" The incredulity in his voice was so overdone it couldn't have possibly been genuine. "Well I simply cannot believe that," he said, crossing his own arms and turning his head away.

"And why not?" Henrietta asked. "Is it such an impossibility that someone can be kissed without giving away their virtue?"

"Indeed it is," Reaver replied, turning back to face her. "In fact, that is exactly what I have observed in all of my considerable years of experience."

"Well you'll just have to take my word for it then," the queen said.

"I am a _logical_ man your majesty," he said, putting one hand to his heart and tapping his walking stick to the ground with the other. "I cannot simply compromise my writing based on your supposition. I need proof."

"Proof," she repeated. "Do you expect me to present someone I've kissed before so they can verify my claim?"

"Actually," he said, cupping his chin as if he were deep in thought. "If I were to kiss you _myself_, then I could adequately gauge whether you're an experienced kisser or not." The queen could feel the color draining from her face.

"No," she said flatly. She could practically sense the jaws of his trap very slowly closing around her. His manuscript had been quite thorough in his depictions of what he could do to her, but his kiss was the one thing he _hadn't_ described in excruciating detail, or at all. Henrietta suspected that was by design, because she was now feeling an overwhelming curiosity as to what that missing piece of the puzzle would be like.

"It's only a kiss my love, I'm not proposing marriage," he teased, running a hand through his hair to clear it of snowflakes. Or more likely, he knew how fascinated the queen was with his hair and was merely reminding her of how much she wanted to run her own hands through it. Whatever his intention, Henrietta found the seemingly simple motion incredibly enticing.

"Oh, just a kiss I'm sure," she said, a steady panic slowly rising in her chest. "And then you'll kiss my face, then my neck, then my chest, and I'll somehow end up without any clothes on!"

"That would certainly be a captivating magic trick," he grinned. "But you have my word, my lips shall not stray from yours." Henrietta was very aware that Reaver's word was worth about as much as a bag of sand. But she knew she had already lost. She had lost the instant she read that manuscript. Perhaps even sooner, when she agreed to dance with him at the masquerade. Associating with Reaver at all was a losing game.

"You're a villain Reaver," the queen said quietly, already resigned to her fate. "Don't think I've forgotten that."

"And you shouldn't forget it," he said silkily, stepping even closer to the queen. "You should only _enjoy_ it."

"Fine," she replied, though Reaver had already begun wrapping his arms around her waist. "You'll have your kiss." As soon as the words left her mouth, he brought his lips down on hers. Henrietta could practically taste his victorious smile, until he abruptly angled his mouth against hers and silenced any rational thought she still had left in her head. All that remained was Reaver.

Henrietta struggled to remain in control of her own actions, before she regressed into something of an automaton, the movement of her body now powered by some hidden turnkey that Reaver had managed to wind up. The queen couldn't help but to draw her arms over his shoulders and run her hands through his hair. It truly felt as glorious as it looked.

The highwayman cape fell back to her shoulders when she raised her arms, her bare skin suddenly victim to the cold mountain air. As Reaver's nimble hands began to roam over her body, his gloveless fingers found his way to her uncovered arm and glided slowly up to her shoulder. She shivered involuntarily, whether from the chilling wind or his heated touch she wasn't sure. It was then that he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth.

Whatever was left of Henrietta's resistance was undone with his motion. His writings had most definitely not oversold the ability of his very gifted tongue, and it was simply too persuasive. In fact, she was so mesmerized by his _persuasiveness_ that when Reaver 'tripped' and fell backwards into the snow pulling her with him, she didn't even notice how her landing left her conveniently straddling his hips. Nor did she hear the gentle clinking of her belt buckle as it was being undone to allow access to her trousers. Only a warning bark from Rooster snapped her from her hypnosis, leading Henrietta to stop kissing Reaver and sit up slowly with the realization of just how far things had progressed.

Reaver was clearly disappointed when her lips left his. His annoyance at the dog's intervention caused his hand to fly to his pistol. Henrietta had enough of her wits about her to understand his intention, and managed to grab hold of the gun in his hand before he had aimed it at her canine companion.

"Shooting a lady's dog is a very quick way to fall out of her favor, sir," she said, breathing heavily. The look in her eye was murderous, she wanted Reaver to be sure that she was not pleased. But the reprobate only laughed at her sudden civility.

"Do you know that you become more polite when you're angry?" he asked, fixing her with a stare meant for the bedroom. "It's ever so charming."

Henrietta was suddenly made aggressively aware that she was still straddling him in a rather inappropriate position, and flung herself off of him in response. She fell into the snow beside him and lay on her back, covering her face with her hands and hoping the snow would cool her down. She felt Rooster nuzzle up to her arms, concerned with his master's apparent ill health. A moment later she was aware of a pair of arms planted in the snow on either side of her. She peeked out from between her fingers to see Reaver leaning over her, apparently having a staring contest with Rooster as the dog dutifully prevented him from getting any closer to her.

"Shall we continue this elsewhere?" he asked when he caught her eyes. "Indoors perhaps, and away from any canine interlopers." He gave a pointed look at her dog to express his irritation.

"Was that not proof enough that I have kissing experience?" she said after a long pause. Henrietta felt at once both relieved and disappointed that Rooster kept the situation from escalating, but now that the moment had passed, she was at a loss as to how to behave with Reaver looming above her.

"I'll grant that you do seem to have _some_ experience," he replied. "But not so much that I feel compelled to change anything in the book." Henrietta's mind sharpened a bit at the mention of that damned book. The Reaver from the story could very well be the Reaver right in front of her, and she seemed to be well on the way to finding out.

"So you're expecting to reenact the entire story and make your changes accordingly, is that it?" she asked, unsure of what she wanted.

"Why, I do believe that is a fantastic idea, Your Majesty," he said with much enthusiasm. "Reenactments are such fun."

"Don't act like this wasn't your plan all along," she replied with a dark look on her face.

"I'm wounded that you would even suggest such a thing. I have only the most beneficent intentions towards you," he said, though his act of leaning in and pressing his body up against hers seemed to suggest otherwise. "If you're so intent on discovering some hidden motive behind my writing, then think of it as just another one of my propositions for you to rule on. I've laid out what is to be gained..." He traced his fingers along her jaw and up to her lips. "It is up to you as to whether or not to act on it."

How to act was the exact dilemma Henrietta had been struggling with as soon as she discovered his manuscript sitting so innocently on her desk. She knew with no small amount of certainty that if she were to act on _instinct_, she would simply pull his lips back down to hers and follow the course to its natural conclusion. On the other hand, this was _Reaver_ she'd be snogging, of all people. No matter how alluring he may be, he still sat so far on the opposite end of the moral, ethical, and political spectrum from her that it made her head spin. But for some unfathomable reason, words like morals, ethics, and even virginity didn't seem to matter to her anymore. It was a notion she had always considered foolish, but Henrietta now understood better than ever before the old adage reminding her that opposites attract.

The queen rolled out from underneath Reaver and stood up. She may forever more be the Queen of Fools for it, but she had made her decision.

"Very well, Reaver," she replied, watching his eyes as he also stood up to meet her gaze. "You've made your case. But!" she added, holding up her finger before he could move any closer to her. "You have to catch me first."

Henrietta spun on her heel as she spoke, fully prepared to speed away down the hill and into the village below. But before she could take a single step, she found Reaver's arms locked around her waist and pulling her back up against him. His reflexes were absolutely _uncanny_.

"Caught you," he gleefully whispered into her ear. Henrietta was was hit with a staggering urge to lean back into his body and breathe in his masculine scent. Instead she just pulled away and turned to face him.

"I meant out... there!" she said, gesturing wildly to the Dweller Camp.

"Well you didn't say so," Reaver replied, planting his walking stick into the snow with an insincere pout. He was right. Henrietta didn't say so, because she didn't think she _needed_ to. She had figured she would have gotten a head start, and she was a quick runner. But as fast as she was, somehow Reaver was faster still.

"Fine," the queen said, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm a woman of my word." With that she turned around and began to march sulkily down the hill, with Rooster in tow behind her.

"I do love such personality quirks," Reaver said as he fell into step beside her. "They're so deliciously exploitable." Henrietta didn't respond. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and making her way to her caravan. If she thought about what would or wouldn't happen once she got there, she would collapse from imagery overload.

As they reached the bottom of the hill, Rooster spotted a couple of dogs playing in front of a caravan further in the village, and ran over to join them. Henrietta stopped and reached her arm out plaintively at his retreating form. _Don't leave me Rooster..._ she thought to herself. _Now I'm alone with him._ A strong gust of wind swept over her, leaving her unable to suppress a visible shiver as she began walking again. She hadn't really been dressed for snowy weather.

"Cold, my dove?" Reaver asked. He didn't wait for her response before draping his arm over her shoulders. Henrietta simply wasn't expecting this move, and that was obviously the only reason why she jumped when he touched her. Reaver seemed to come to a different conclusion however, and leaned in close.

"You'd do well to get used to my touch Henrietta," he said in a tantalizing voice. "It's going to be quite frequent." Henrietta felt inexplicably warm at the sound of her name leaving his lips. Reaver had never actually called her that before, and she felt herself turning a corner in the maze of emotions and sensations she found herself lost in. The queen once again felt ill-equipped to handle the situation, and simply refused to say another word until they had reached the caravan.

Not a single moment passed after Henrietta had flung open the door to her caravan, before Reaver scooped her up in his arms and tossed her onto the thin pallet that passed for a bed, quickly slamming the door shut behind him with his foot.

"Hey!" she yelled. Reaver silenced her mouth with his own, putting the full weight of his body on top of her. Henrietta was held in place by his kiss for a long moment, until she noticed that he had somehow maneuvered himself into a very intimate position. The queen tore her lips away from his and rolled them over, so that she was left sitting on top of him.

"Something you should know, my loyal attendant," she said with an arch sneer. "I'm not as submissive as your fictional queen." She untied the bow keeping the highwayman cloak in place and shrugged it off her shoulders. "I may be all nerves and apprehension right now, but I don't plan on just letting you have your way with me." Reaver answered her with his trademark grin.

"Whichever way you wish to _learn_ is fine by me," he said, slipping his hands underneath her corset. Henrietta grabbed his wrists and pulled them down, giving him a serious look.

"You can't use this as hands on research for your book, you know," she said.

"Your most _royal_ majesty," he replied with a sigh, bringing his hands around behind her to unlace the corset from there. "I never had any intention of actually _publishing_ the book. It was merely a pretext for your inevitable seduction. _Foreplay_." The queen gaped at his response, unmoving as he expertly untied her laces.

"So you wrote that entire thing simply as a means to an end?" Reaver gave her a huge smile, revealing his teeth as he slid his hands down to grope her bum.

"And what a _delicious_ end it is."

* * *

**What I love about Reaver is that he's such a bastard, but the games always play it up for laughs. Sure you've got the good guys decrying how evil he is, but he gets all the exposition after you make a royal decision, and it's pure comedy gold. It really put me in the mood for a story that was more saucy and lighthearted. Though what little humor there is in my story turned out very dry, I'm pretty satisfied with ending it here. Everything after that is just... imagery.**

**And of course, special thanks to Yarbo, ba77ousai, Shiro Anubis, and onelove87 for their reviews. They're like cookies for my creative spirit. :)**


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